


Small

by uhpockuhlipz



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut, Spoilers, and tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 15:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5972962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uhpockuhlipz/pseuds/uhpockuhlipz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke goes to see Lexa the night before the battle to the death. Spoilers through 3x04</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small

It never really occurred to Clarke how truly  _small_ Lexa is.

She somehow always seemed larger than life to her, the singular leader of the twelve (thirteen) grounder clans. As mythic as Clarke was herself now, strong and certain and unwavering. Even after meeting her, Clarke never thought of her as anything but imposing. Perhaps because she always looked ready to kill someone with her armor and war paint, her dramatic black coat and proudly lifted chin. She made a strong figure, and Clarke’s thoughts were always so _consumed_ by her when she was in her presence that she often took up the majority of her focus.

But as she stepped through the doors of Lexa’s room without warning or invitation, it was the first thing she thought. _She’s so small._

Lexa shot up from the cage-like chair she’d been sitting in, folding the robe she wore around herself as she did so. “Is there something wrong, Clarke?” she asked at once, but Clarke couldn’t answer.

Lexa wore no armor. There wasn’t any makeup on her face and she’d taken out her braids so that her hair hung in loose waves past her shoulders. She looked… young. Delicate. Clarke carefully shut the doors behind her and then stepped forward, taking her in. This was the girl who was supposed to fight to the death tomorrow. This was the girl expected to win with speed and sword and nothing else against a man Clarke knew from experience was large and hard and strong. How could she possibly win?

Lexa, for her part, seemed rather confused by their silent standoff. She tilted her chin up in a habitual gesture of control, but without the armor and the coat and the sash and the drama, she looked too small to be a threat. Just a kid, Clarke remembered. Just a girl. They both were just girls. And now there was a very real chance that Lexa would die as she was.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she mumbled at last, stepping closer. “Or nothing more than there was already. I wanted to talk to you about… but you’re about to go to sleep. Sorry.”

“Do not apologize.” Lexa’s eyes were unwavering as she sat again, this time on the edge of her bed. “Sleep comes rarely to me in any case. You of all people understand that, Clarke.”

And she did. She did understand and it occurred to her again that she and Lexa were similar in a lot of ways. It shouldn’t have surprised her to know that sleep came hard for her too.  _You’re still haunted by Costia._ Hadn’t she spat those words at her once, months ago? Maybe Lexa, too, woke in the night, haunted by all those whose deaths she carried on her shoulders.

And maybe she was more afraid of dying tomorrow than she let on. Maybe the coup had shaken her confidence more than she cared to admit.

Yet Lexa sat in her chambers, prepared to face that fear alone. Always so damned stubborn, always needing to look so strong. Clarke got it, she got why, but it didn’t have to be that way.

She stepped closer still. So close that Lexa’s eyes flickered with uncertainty and surprise. And want. God, the want that had been burning between them for so long, ever present. Clarke recognized it and reached out before she could think, hands resting on Lexa’s shoulders. Tiny. They glided down her arm. Slim, but roped with muscle beneath soft skin. 

Lexa’s breath caught, but she said nothing. Their eyes met and Clarke greedily dove into the deep green-blue. More ocean than trees, she’d always thought. More steady than the fickle forest, but less predictable. Oceans hid so many secrets, left so much unexplored. That she’d learned in earth studies- the water that covered the Earth held mystery. Yes, Lexa’s eyes better suited the sea…

“Lexa,” she murmured. And with a sigh of surrender, Clarke leaned in and captured Lexa’s lips with her own. Lexa made some sound – a weak sort of sound, a sound no commander should be heard making – and lifted her hands, resting them on Clarke’s hips.

Small hands, gentle hands, hands that brandished swords and gripped knives and were stained with blood – possibly more than even Clarke’s. Hands that, come tomorrow, would be her only defense against death.

Lexa touched her like she was trying to touch smoke, hesitant and unsure. So Clarke reached up, tugging her own shirt up and off before pressing Lexa’s hands more firmly to her hips. She edged her knees onto the bed, first one and then the other. Then her hands, palms sinking into the soft furs, a slow crawl up Lexa’s body. Lexa backed up to accommodate, sliding across the bed, and it wasn’t at all what Clarke had come here for, but now she couldn’t stop.

Clarke kicked off her shoes, one and two, body hovering over Lexa’s now as the kiss went deeper. Those hands were on her skin, carefully tracing, learning every inch they could reach. “I want you,” Clarke whispered into her, shuddering with the admission. “Why have I always wanted you?”

“Clarke…” Lexa ran her hand up the length of her back, over her neck, and around to cup her cheek. Their eyes met again, and Lexa looked at her like she’d never be able to look long enough. “Is it such a bad thing?”

Clarke shook her head slowly. “I’m starting to think it’s the only possible outcome.” 

She sat up slowly, pulling Lexa with her. Her hands moved immediately to her shoulders and this time she pushed the robe off of them, letting it crumple around Lexa’s waist. Small, she thought again. So small, so beautiful. Clarke kissed her again, exploring skin now exposed with hands that were steady despite everything. It was only the second time passing over Lexa’s shoulder blades that she realized the skin was smooth, unblemished.

“No kill marks,” she murmured, echoing what Niylah had said to her when they’d slept together. Lexa shook her head slowly. “Not enough room,” Clarke added, and this time Lexa nodded. Oh yes, they were the same in so many ways.

Clarke rid herself of the rest of her clothes while Lexa sat quietly, hair slightly mussed, breathing fast. The need burned in her chest now, the aching hunger clawing at her until she was reaching out for Lexa again, yanking her in, crushing their mouths together. Hot and hungry, wanting. Some sound of pleasure escaped Lexa again, a sort of sighing moan. Clarke was ready to devour, to lose themselves in the fast and hard and desperate. But the hands at her shoulders – small but calloused, gentle but strong – eased her back again until she broke the kiss, staring at Lexa.

“Clarke,” she whispered, and her voice was husky with the need Clarke knew burned in both of them. It was their first time, and possibly their last. Clarke’s eyes stung with the knowledge, but Lexa’s eyes were steady and dry. She combed back Clarke’s hair and kissed her again, softer this time. “There is no need to rush through this. I do not wish to rush this. I want…” Lexa took in a deep breath, hesitating now. Her confidence seemed to waver.

Clarke watched her, saw how those eyes moved restlessly over her face, as if Lexa couldn’t quite take in that this was real. Or maybe more like she wanted to memorize every inch of her face, something to take with her to her death. God. “What do you want?” she prompted quietly, and Lexa’s gaze lifted to meet Clarke’s again.

“I want you to know who you are with when you are with me, Clarke. I want you to remember me.”

As if she could forget. Still, Clarke nodded, offering the smallest of smiles. She would not cry. Not here, not now. Lexa’s eyes flickered between both of hers another moment and then she nodded too. And when they kissed again, it was not with the flash of flames from before, but the smoldering embers of them. The difference between being consumed by fire and being warmed by it.

Lexa was careful when she urged Clarke back against the furs, an uncertain question in her eyes. But Clarke reassured with another kiss, with tugging hands that spoke of agreement. Lexa let out a slow breath and sank into her again, skin to skin, curve to curve. The warm weight of her was beyond welcome and Clarke let her hands run over her, exploring subtle muscle, the dips and angles and slopes that made her Lexa, always hidden beneath layers of protective clothing.

“You are so beautiful, Clarke.” Lexa parted from their kiss enough to whisper it, every word brushing Clarke’s lips until they tingled. She breathed them in, held them there in her chest, the words bringing life to the soul so long buried in the deepest recesses of her heart.

Lexa’s mouth found the underside of her jaw and so, so softly, she planted a kiss there. Then down further on the column of her throat, right where Clarke’s pulse fluttered rapidly. She dug her fingers into Lexa’s shoulders, humming her approval when her tightening grip made Lexa pause. “Yes,” was all she said, answering Lexa’s unspoken questions.

Those kisses continued down her body, across her collarbones, her shoulders, the valley between her breasts. The air stuck in Clarke’s lungs as Lexa’s nose trailed over the curve of one, so close to where the pleasure could send her reeling. She moved down her abdomen, kisses counting each rib and filling the spaces between. Down to her stomach, which tightened beneath her lips as Clarke’s fingers wound through Lexa’s dark hair.

Lexa’s hands followed her progress, gliding over Clarke’s waist, her hips, her thighs. She never stopped touching, for which Clarke was grateful. She couldn’t get through if Lexa wasn’t touching her, and it didn’t seem Lexa could get her fill of doing so.

Finally, satisfied that she had worshiped every inch possible (all but where Clarke burned for her touch, all but where she needed her most), Lexa shifted to kiss Clarke’s lips once more. “Is this okay?” Lexa asked in a whisper and Clarke sighed and shuddered with a quick nod of her head.

“Now stop asking,” she returned, nipping softly into Lexa’s lower lip even as she rolled their bodies over again. “And show me more.” The kiss this time was deeper, more urgent. Not hurrying their pace at all, but demanding just a little more. Lexa complied. Her hands ran up Clarke’s sides again, one tangling in her hair while the other cupped a breast.

And with her eyes on Clarke, she dipped her head down and took the other with her lips.

Clarke gasped and arched, fingers curling into the furs on either side of Lexa’s head. It felt so good, and god, she never wanted it to end. She never wanted to have to say goodbye. “Touch me,” she demanded breathlessly, shifting to kiss Lexa again, her mouth desperate again with her thoughts. The first time, the last time, the only time… It couldn’t be…

This time, Lexa didn’t try to slow their pace again. Her hand ran down between them, slid between their bodies, and did as Clarke wished. She touched, a slow glide of fingers over her, then up and in. Clarke cried out, breaking the kiss to gasp air down into her lungs. Their eyes met, locked, held.

They moved together, every motion synchronized, until Clarke began to tremble. Until she came. She squeezed her eyes shut and Lexa murmured soft words to her as she brought her down again, their bodies rolling again so that she melted into the bed. Lexa continued to whisper to her in Trigedasleng, brushing kisses across her skin, sipping away the tears that fell without commenting on them. They both knew why Clarke cried.

“I love you too,” Clarke murmured after the silence had stretched between them.

Lexa froze and lifted her head. “What?”

Clarke’s lips curved slightly and she opened her eyes, focusing on Lexa again. “You said _‘a_ _i hod yu in._ _’_ I love you. What?” A hint of amusement flashed and her smile grew a fraction. “Didn’t realize I’m fluent in your language now, commander?”

“I…” Lexa shook her head, falling silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice had changed slightly. Considering. “No, I did not realize. That is very… interesting.”

“I bet.” Clarke laughed quietly, leaning over to brush a kiss over Lexa’s chin. And then her forehead dropped to her shoulder, the humor slipping away into worry again. Lexa’s arms came up around her, pulling her close until they were pressed together again.

“You are sure you do not want to come tomorrow, Clarke?” she murmured, stroking through Clarke’s hair.

Clarke shook her head, clutching tighter. “I won’t watch them kill you.” She didn’t think she could stand it, watching Lexa die at the hands of that bitch who’d just blown up so many of her people. She was so sick of watching people she loved die.

Lexa nodded, still stroking Clarke’s hair, silent. They lay there like that for several minutes before she spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “Then will you stay here with me tonight?”

Clarke didn’t answer. Instead she lifted her head and kissed Lexa once more.

Just once more, she thought. Before…


End file.
